


Eclogue X

by fourfreedoms



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Grinding, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Self-Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:30:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3515438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fourfreedoms/pseuds/fourfreedoms
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>
    <b>‘shawty had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club lookin’ at her, she hit the floor, next thing you know, shawty got low low low low low low low’</b>
  </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Patrick whooped, nudging Jonny in the side. </i>
</p><p>
  <i>"Nah, I’m good," Jonny said. "You go." </i>
</p><p>
  <i>Patrick hesitated for a moment. What was he going to do all night anyway? Keep Jonny company and cockblock himself on a complete lost cause?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eclogue X

**Author's Note:**

> I did a song lyric prompt meme on tumblr and krugsy gave me the following: "shorty had them apple bottom jeans / boots with the fur / the whole club lookin' at her / she hit the floor / next thing you know / shorty got low low low low low low low" --this has been cleaned up and reposted from there.

His lips burned with lime and salt from the row of tequila shots he’d downed. The back of his shirt was damp with sweat, wet where it met the small of his back. The sign of a good night, dancing with one pretty girl after another. Easy to ignore all the shit that wasn’t working out right in his life. Easy to ignore that hole in his chest.

"Lookin’ pretty fly, Kaner," Sharpy said, when he returned to the bar for a bit of a breather.

Patrick gave him the finger. “You wish you had moves like these.”

Sharpy laughed, delighted. “Have another shot, wild man,” he said, as the bartender assembled a row of shot glasses, pouring them full of Cabo Uno like it was water.

Patrick was just about to slam his back when Jonny showed up, looping an arm around Patrick’s neck. The simple touch made Patrick’s skin light up, hyper-aware of all the places they were touching. Jonny was breathing hard, warm against Patrick’s side, and his lips were puffy. He’d been making out with some chick for twenty minutes, Patrick thought they’d lost him for the night. But he was still here and apparently that meant stealing Patrick’s shot right out of his fingers and swallowing it down.

"Yes, please, take it," Patrick said dryly, hand still up in the air. "So glad to provide for you."

Jonny swiped his tongue around the corner of his mouth, licking the excess off. Patrick couldn’t help but track the motion of it over his pink lips. “Thanks, man,” Jonny said with a grin. “Much obliged.”

Patrick bumped him with his shoulder, rolling his eyes, and Jonny laughed.Patrick went to reach for another one, but Sharpy smacked his hand away, picking up the five remaining glasses, three in one hand, two in the other. “Nope, you lost yours,” he said, before moving away to dole out his prizes. 

"What? How is that fair?" Patrick called after him. Jonny cracked up even harder, so Patrick poked him in the side and said, a little snide, "What happened, man, you strike out?"

Jonny shrugged. “Nah, not my thing.”

Patrick stared at him. She was hot—stacked, long legs, the tiniest little white dress against her tan skin—exactly Jonny’s type. “What was she into some—” he dropped his voice, “—kinky shit?” 

Jonny shook his head. “No, just like, too tired. I kinda want to head home and do my own thing.”

"Oh, your own thing," Patrick replied, grinning, making a universally recognized lewd motion with his hand. He was trying not to think about the fact that it made him feel better that Jonny wasn’t going home with some chick, when it wasn’t like they could ever fool around like that anyway. Or, well, Patrick knew he couldn’t.

"Ah, fuck off," Jonny replied, smacking him upside the head. Patrick smiled at him.

They leaned back against the bar, quiet, simply people watching until the song changed.

 _‘shawty had them apple bottom jeans, boots with the fur, the whole club lookin’ at her, she hit the floor, next thing you know, shawty got low low low low low low low’_

Patrick whooped, nudging Jonny in the side. 

"Nah, I’m good," Jonny said. "You go." 

Patrick hesitated for a moment. What was he going to do all night anyway? Keep Jonny company and cockblock himself on a complete lost cause? He cleared his throat.

"Well, have fun doing your own thing," he called. Jonny snorted and waved as Patrick dove back into the crowd. He tried to lose himself in the crush of bodies and the pulse of the music. No matter how much shit people gave him, Patrick lived for this. A cute redhead sidled up to him and before long, she was grinding back against him, holding his hands to her hips. Dancing was simple. After this song was over, she’d leave, go on to the next partner, forget him altogether. If only sex could be so simple. If they could just fuck around and have it not mean anything—but it would. The first moment he put his hands and mouth on Jonny, it would mean something. What a seesaw he was on.

"You okay there?" she asked, craning her head to look back at him. His hips had fallen out of rhythm.

Patrick shook his head. Fuck, he’d been okay. He’d been doing just fine. Tonight was gonna be a good night. And now he was all twisted up. His eyes were drawn unerringly to where Jonny was standing across the room, he always did have a sixth sense for him. Watching him say goodnight to the boys and head for the door stupidly made Patrick want to go running after him. Well, he always did have poor impulse control. “Yeah, yeah, sorry,” Patrick said a little absently, detangling herself from him. “Sorry, my buddy is leaving.”

He didn’t even give her a chance to respond, before he was pushing through the crowd, trying to get to the door. By the time, he made it outside, Jonny was down the block, one leg into a cab.

"Hey, Toews," he called out. Jonny turned around, eyebrows raised, arm on the door. Patrick pitched his voice to be heard despite the distance between them, "What’s your own thing?"

Jonny leaned his chin on his arm, giving him a thoughtful look. “Just wanted to lie in bed and make out, maybe watch some CSI. But I’m sure I could’ve been persuaded to do a few other things.”

"What, you didn’t think she’d be into it?" Patrick said as he jogged up to him, meaning the girl Jonny had been making out with. 

"Not sure I would be into it with her," Jonny replied.

"Why’s that?" Patrick asked, breathless, coming close enough to touch him.

"Peeks," Jonny said softly, scanning his face, "are you ever gonna give this a chance?" 

The open cab door was between them now. If that wasn’t a metaphor for Patrick’s life, he didn’t know what was. He’d told his sister once he was afraid of this feeling—it was giving Jonny so much power. He’d never felt like this in his fucking life and it was terrifying.

Patrick swallowed, weighed a thousand possibilities in a single moment. He thought of the way his sister had looked at him and said, ‘Pat, what you want, you go out and make it happen. I don’t understand why this is any different.’

Was it terrible that Jonny had somehow grown larger than hockey? That at some point, losing him had become one of the greatest prices Patrick could think to pay. But. 

YOLO.

Jonny’s smile was soft, sweet. Patrick needed to get him into the cab right this moment, otherwise he was going to lay one on him in full view of a thousand camera phones. 

"Can I join you?" he asked, voice a little hoarse. 

*

Patrick didn’t actually think Jonny was going to put on CSI when they got to his place, but he did, turning on the set in his bedroom as he went to take off his shirt.

“I have some PJs that’d fit you in the dresser,” Jonny told him as he pulled his shirt up over his head. Patrick watched him shuck his jeans and pull up a pair of flannel pajama pants that rode low on his hips. He wondered how it was that a person he’d seen naked on a fairly regular basis, could look so different. Patrick supposed he was allowing himself to look now, the back dimples, the flex of his spine, heavy muscles in his shoulders bunching and shifting as Jonny leafed through drawers searching for something Patrick could wear. Patrick swallowed, trying to school his features as Jonny came up with a pair of shorts and a plain t-shirt. He tossed them to Patrick before settling himself on the bed.

Patrick stripped himself out of his clothes without looking at him. His henley and jeans were disgusting, sweaty, there was probably tequila on them. He contemplated throwing them into Jonny’s laundry, but stopped himself. He didn’t want to presume anything.

He bit at his lip. The same level of fear was in his chest that he remembered as he waited to hear the roster after team tryouts the first time he'd ever been on one with cuts. Had he made it? Was everything he hoped for a possibility? When he turned back around, faced Jonny head on, everything was going to be different. Patrick’s heart pounded hard in his chest, cheeks going hot. Holy god, those shots were a long time ago, this knife-edge of sobriety was killing him. How did anybody ever make a move like this? How did anybody ever care this much? He was freaking out a little.

Jonny padded up behind him, taking the pants and shirt out of his hands and lobbing them in the direction of the laundry basket.

“I’ll wash ‘em in the morning,” Jonny said over his shoulder as he walked back to the bed. “Anything you want to watch in particular?”

“Committed to your plan,” Patrick observed as Jonny paused at the edge of the bed hands on the covers.

“Mmhm,” Jonny said casually, getting into the bed. “Coming?”

Jonny switched off the light when Patrick slid under the sheets. He’d left Patrick more than enough space, but when Patrick slid all the way in next to him, tentatively pressing up against his side, he looked over and smiled.

“Law & Order okay?” he asked. Patrick shrugged. He wasn’t sure what he thought was going to happen. Jonny jumping him as soon as they were through the door he could probably handle. This waiting game though when it felt like the weight of everything in his heart was hanging upon it he wasn't sure how to deal with. He’d come along way from being sixteen, afraid to do the wrong thing, come too early, gross a girl out, whatever. And yet he felt like a novice. And that was even stranger, feeling so unsure with this person who he knew almost better than he knew himself. He'd spent a lot of time in Jonny’s space in his life, in various states of undress. God he wanted this to be good. Wanted this to be good for Jonny. Patrick didn't think he was selfish in bed exactly, he was a firm believer that everybody should get what they wanted out of sex, but he couldn't really think of a time where it mattered so much to him. Because there hadn't ever been. It was that simple. And now Patrick felt like he was burning up, hyper-aware of every place they were in contact, shoulder to shin, Jonny’s bare skin against his.

They watched the first fifteen minutes of an episode with Patrick getting increasingly amped up and edgy, Jonny just lying there quietly beside him, propped against the pillows. At some point, he’d taken to watching Jonny more than the TV.

“What’s up?” Jonny asked, looking over at him.

Patrick wasn’t sure what to say. The words were stuck in his throat. God, he was as full of adrenaline as he was on a breakaway with only ten seconds left on the clock. Jonny looked really good like this, relaxed, eyelashes lit up in the blue light of the TV. Patrick was running through a variety of scenarios of just _ruining_ him, kissing him stupid and pliable. This was just fucking idiotic. What Patrick wanted, he took. He was good in bed. And he would fucking make this happen. 

"Hey, c'mere," Patrick said, moving in swift and sure, reaching up to slot his mouth against Jonny’s. Jonny made a noise of surprise in the back of his throat, but his lips parted easily against Patrick’s sudden onslaught. He tasted like somebody else’s chapstick. It made Patrick’s skin prickle with an angry heat, unexpected possessiveness washing through him. Never again, Patrick thought with an insane sort of surety, tongue sliding soft and wet againt Jonny’s. This was all his. 

It was a good kiss. He shouldn't have worried. But he was a little unprepared for how it was going to make him feel. All of that stupid restless energy that had him coming apart at the seams was now channeled into urgent arousal, and he shifted, rolling to blanket Jonny with body.

“Hi,” Jonny said, eyes bright and cheeks flushed as Patrick adjusted his weight against him. His bare chest heaved, Patrick could feel the steady gallop of his heart underneath his palm.

“Hi,” Patrick replied, staring down at him, the TV still blaring behind them. He thought briefly about finding the remote and turning it off, because Law & Order hardly seemed like a good soundtrack for getting it on. He was just reaching for the remote when Jonny wound his fingers through Patrick’s curls, tugged him back down, and he forgot all about it.

Holy god, they may as well have been shitfaced, reduced to uncoordinated sloppy kissing and grinding against each other, moaning unfettered. There was no finesse to the way he shoved his dick against Jonny’s thigh, each little push lighting up the backs of his eyes, making his fingers tighten on Jonny’s jaw, tilting his chin so Patrick could greedily fuck his mouth with his tongue. Patrick felt like he’d abstained from sex for weeks, months even, horny and desperate. He hadn't. It had only been days. Tampa, sweet brown-eyed brunette. He supposed he’d abstained from Jonny for years, denied himself this thing he’d wanted so badly.

He got a knee under him, raising his hips so that he could reach between them and slide his palm over Jonny’s swollen cock, molding the soft plaid of pajamas around the hot, hard width of him. Jonny shuddered as Patrick thumbed over the vulnerable curve of the head, drawing the fabric back and forth. 

“I wanna—I wanna see you,” Patrick breathed, looking down into Jonny’s wide eyes. He reached down and tugged Jonny’s pajamas down his thighs. Jonny exhaled, lifting his chin as his cock sprang free, bobbing against his belly. Patrick stared at as Jonny took himself in hand, cupping himself protectively as he kicked the rest of the way out of his pajamas.

“What are you thinking about, Peeks?” Jonny asked, beginning a lazy up-down on his dick, beautiful hand curled around the shaft. Shit, Jonny looked good enough for porn right now. Patrick was thinking a lot of things. He was thinking about putting his mouth on it, sliding it down to meet Jonny’s fist, imagining Jonny’s taste on his tongue. It was a pretty cock, flushed all pink. Not yet, he thought. He was too skin-hungry, needing Jonny close. He fit himself against Jonny’s body, pulling him into one of those searing kisses. He slid his hand over Jonny's belly, muscles tensing and contracting below his fingertips, slow, slow, before he reached down to wrap his fingers around Jonny’s dick. He had to pull away from the kiss to look at it. Jonny raised a knee, bracing himself to push up into Patrick’s fist as Patrick started stroking him off. Patrick loved the sight of his own strong forearm across Jonny’s hips, pale against Jonny’s gold skin as he worked his hand.

Jonny turned his head, seeking Patrick’s mouth in another needy mess of a kiss. Patrick couldn’t help grinding his own dick against Jonny’s thigh, the soft nylon of the shorts a filthy drag over his cock. Jonny bit at Patrick's lip, tugging on it with his teeth, before sucking it into his mouth. Patrick’s hips jerked, he pushed harder against the flexing muscles in Jonny’s leg. Patrick was just breathing into his mouth now, so close to the edge. Just from rutting against Jonny like a goddamn teenager, with motherfucking Law & Order playing in the background.

Jonny reached down and stilled Patrick’s fist on his dick, coming just moments later all over them both. Shit that was Jonny’s come on his hand. He wanted to bring it up to his mouth to taste it. If Jonny hadn’t reached over and tugged at him so that Patrick was honest-to-goodness riding his thigh, he would have. Instead, his come-wet palm smeared across Jonny’s chest as he braced himself, thrusting against the quad Jonny was keeping tensed up for him, something to push back against. He moaned, dropping his head to Jonny’s shoulder, pressure building in his balls.

“That’s it, Peeks,” Jonny said, talking him through it, rubbing soft hands up and down Patrick’s back. His nose was full of the scent of them both, sex and sweat. The freshly washed sheets smelled of detergent--the same one that scented all of Jonny’s clothes, that Patrick had been smelling for years--cut through it. A reminder of just where he was. In the end, Patrick thought it was the pass of Jonny’s fingers along his spine and that smell that did it. That made him come with a muttered curse against Jonny’s thigh, muscles gone so tense, it almot hurt.

He lay there for a while, face turned into Jonny’s throat, just letting himself swim in the afterglow for a bit. Jonny let him, easy underneath him. Finally, Patrick rolled away, landing on his back and blowing out a breath.

He stared at the ceiling, a little gobsmacked. “Fuck,” he said.

“What?” Jonny asked, turning onto his side to meet his eyes. He was a mess, smeared up with jizz. Patrick wasn’t much better, coming the way he had inside his shorts.

“I didn’t know it would be like that,” Patrick said.

Jonny smiled, he reached out and ran his fingertips over Patrick’s abraded lower lip, sending a little zing of pleasure through him. “I did.”

**Author's Note:**

> omnia vincit amor - love conquers (us) all.


End file.
